


Trickster's Pet

by zannyvix



Series: Coyote Games [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, The Dresden Files RPG
Genre: Backstory, Choices, Coyotes, Family, Gen, Growing Up, Injury, Kid - Freeform, Magic, Navajo, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), RPG character, Sheep, Snakes, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zannyvix/pseuds/zannyvix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original characters, set in the Dresdenverse. Billy Nizhoni is a halfbreed Navajo boy struggling to find his place in the world. Abandoned by his mother and raised by his maternal grandparents, he is devastated when informed he cannot follow his grandfather in becoming a medicine man. Impetuous and stubborn, Billy decides to take matters into his own hands. That fateful decision intertwines his future with that of a mysterious stranger who is more than he seems...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fateful Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> This really IS set in the Dresdenverse, but appearances by canon characters will be few and far between. It was written as backstory for my Dresden Files RPG character, and as such may not interest anyone but myself. If you like to follow the tales of other people who share the same universe as Harry Dresden and his friends, but travel in less rarified circles, feel free to read on.

Evening brought cool winds sinking into the canyon, but the red rocks still retained enough of the day’s heat to keep me comfortably warm. I peeked out from my precarious perch, wedged between two of the striated, wind-sculpted stones. The rocks hid me from view, but I could see my grandfather below, setting out colored sand and the little sack of sacred blue cornmeal used in some of the more complicated ceremonies. I loved the ceremonies, the dances, everything the medicine men did. They sang to the part of me that was pure _Diné_ , and in the fervent way of twelve-year-old boys everywhere, I was convinced that if I dedicated myself hard enough, that part would overshadow the part of me that was other, not of The People.

My dual heritage ate at me, though I was loath to admit it even to my cousins, who were as close as brothers and sisters. My mother had gone off the Rez, had gotten into trouble and come back to her family carrying me. She had left again when I was only four years old. My memories of her were few and fuzzy. Her name was Mae. My grandmother kept a picture of her in the hogan so I at least knew what she looked like. I had eyes shaped like hers, though they were the wrong color, and Grandfather claimed that the stubborn tilt of my mouth was the same. Of my father, I knew nothing at all. My mother had never discussed it with my grandparents, or if they knew, they had not told me so.

No one amongst my family would call me halfbreed, but I knew what I was. Others had mumbled the word on the few occasions I had traveled with my grandfather or one of my uncles to the trading post for supplies we could not grow ourselves. I hated it. I did not look like my cousins. My eyes were the wrong color, the shape of my face too thin, my skin too light. It made me different, set me apart when I desperately wished to be just like the rest of my family. So I strove to be more like them, since I could not make up for it in looks. I had tried over and over to be better, to be more. To make up for an accident of birth I had no hope of correcting.

The harshest blow to my young spirit had been my grandfather’s gentle but firm denial to teach me the ways of the medicine man. I was as welcome as the rest of the family to watch and participate in the general ceremonies, but nothing more. The secret ways were forbidden me, not because of my mixed blood, but because Grandfather claimed I had no talent for it. That had rankled. I had been an obedient grandson. I’d tried so hard to prove myself, only to find I was cut off before I even began. My grandparents were traditionalists. My cousins and I were all educated at home, not sent off to the schools the BIA had established. I could read, write, and do basic figuring, but I wasn’t a dedicated scholar. Education wasn’t enough to get me off the Rez, and all I knew was I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life chasing sheep around the canyons, not quite fitting in.

Now my heart pounded in my throat as I watched Grandfather begin the chant, colored sand spilling onto the bare rock of the canyon floor. The setting sun splashed everything in crimson, gold, ochre, and deep cobalt shadows. I had disobeyed my grandfather’s edict. I had come to watch the sand painting even though I had been told to stay home. My curiosity had outweighed my fear of reprisal. I was so engrossed in watching the medicine ceremony unfold that I never heard the stranger come up behind me, not until a heavy hand caught the back of my shirt and hauled me bodily up from my hiding place.

I gave a yell, kicking and flailing in surprise. None of my wild strikes connected, and the world spun dizzily around me as the stranger who’d grabbed me leapt lightly down the slope. Scree skittered around his feet when he reached bottom, with me still twisting in his grasp like a landed fish. Grandfather’s chanting had cut off. The old man stood stock still, a pot of colored sand still in his hand while he regarded the stranger and me.

“Let go!” I shouted. My words might as well have been wind, howling down the canyon.

“Thought you were meeting me alone, Nantai,” the man remarked casually, still holding me up like I weighed nothing.

“I was,” Grandfather said slowly. “My apologies for the intrusion, Old Man. Billy is not supposed to be here.” The last was delivered with stern reproof that made me stop struggling.

“Billy, eh?”

“My grandson.”

“Is that so?”

The man dropped me abruptly in the dirt. I scrambled away and scampered to my feet, sucking in air while my heart pounded in my chest. I eyed the man with wary suspicion. The stranger looked _Diné_. Grandfather had called him an old man, but he didn’t look like one. He couldn’t be much past forty, his body lean and wiry. His skin was bronzed and his hair black and tied back in a short ponytail, but it was his eyes that transfixed me. No natural man had eyes that color. Yellow as piss. Dog’s eyes. That sly gaze rooted me to the spot when I would have bolted. Long fingers caught my chin, tilted my face up.

“He doesn’t look much like you,” the stranger said casually.

Grandfather hesitated a moment before answering. “My daughter met a man off the reservation.”

“Ah.” That single word spoke volumes, kindling a spark of anger in my chest. The man hadn’t said it, but he was thinking it. Halfbreed. Not enough. I would never measure up. My anger gave me the strength to wrench my chin from the man’s grasp and back several steps away. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here!” I retorted.

“Boy has a temper,” said the stranger, nonplussed.

Grandfather shrugged. “Like his mother. Like me at that age. It runs in the blood.”

“Mmm.” The yellow-eyed man turned his attention back to me as I seethed.

“Tell me this, Billy-Boy, why were you hiding in the rocks?”

What did he care? Now I was going to get my hide tanned for being where I shouldn’t, and it was all this guy’s fault. “I wanted to see,” I replied sullenly.

“I told you to stay home,” my Grandfather put in sternly.

“You always say that! You never let me see anything.”

The elder Nizhoni scowled. “That is because these ceremonies are not meant for the amusement of foolish boys who do not know how to do as they’re told. Go home, Billy. Now.”

The stranger held up a hand to forestall him. “Now now, you’ve already called me, and the boy’s here. Why not let him stay?” There was something uncomfortable about his grin, even as hope surged in my chest.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Grandfather said uneasily. “He hasn’t the talent for medicine making.”

“Then maybe he could serve in some other capacity,” the stranger suggested, those sly yellow eyes sliding back to me. Finally, it clicked, and I knew who the stranger was.

“You... You’re Coyote,” I blurted. “But...”

The man slapped his thigh and let out a raucous whoop of laughter that echoed down the canyon. “Well, the boy’s got a brain after all. Maybe he _is_ your get, Nantai. Good, that makes things more interesting.”

I scowled at him, almost missing my grandfather’s sharp intake of breath. “But if you’re Coyote, wouldn’t that make you like a million years old?” Yeah, right.

“Give or take.” That toothy smile again. “You know I’m the reason people come in so many different colors? I wouldn’t quit pestering the Human-Maker while he was baking his little clay people, so some of you came out soft and white and underdone, while others got burnt to a shiny black crisp! The People, though, they came out just right.”

“I know the stories,” I retorted. “That doesn’t make you Coyote.”

“No. But this does.”

Where the man had stood, there was now a monstrous coyote, bigger than any wolf or any dog I had ever seen. It opened its mouth and let its tongue loll out between teeth as long as my thumb. Slaver dripped to the ground by its enormous paws.

“Does that convince you, boy?”

It spoke with the man’s voice, and its breath was hot and rank on my face.

I swallowed hard. I was a skinny kid in a t-shirt and ragged denim cutoff shorts. I very much doubted the little sling and stones in my pocket, used for driving predators away from the family’s sheep, would do more than annoy Coyote. He was as big as a bear, maybe bigger.

“Y-yes, sir,” I managed.

“Sir. Hah! I like that. You raised your grandson with _some_ manners, at least, Nantai.”

“Please, Old Man. Your business is with me. Let the boy go home,” Grandfather said quietly. In his words was a silent warning to me. Shut your mouth, boy. Say nothing more that might upset the Trickster. I did know the stories. Coyote was a god, but a feckless and fickle one.

The man returned, replacing the beast. He wore a lopsided grin. “I adore curiosity and I admire spirit,” Coyote said. “Go on home, boy. We’ll talk again another time.”

Those words were a promise. I gulped, but I needed no further prompting. I lit off down the canyon like someone had set fire to my heels, never looking back. I’d not seen the ceremony I wanted, but I’d met one of the First People. No one would ever believe me, even if I told them. It sounded crazy even to me, and I had seen it with my own eyes. What had Coyote meant, that we would talk another time? A twist of foreboding made my stomach feel funny. I put on an extra burst of speed and loped for the hogan where my grandmother and aunts and uncles and cousins waited. I supposed I would just have to find out.

 


	2. Tight Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a year since Billy Nizhoni's last fateful meeting with Coyote. Now the Trickster makes an appearance at the worst possibly time, offering a choice that could determine the young man's fate... Whether he realizes he's making the decision or not.

Sheep are stupid. Don’t believe me? Spend a few hours trying to keep a flock out of trouble and see how long your patience lasts. I’d been tracking one of our more troublesome wandering ewes for a good two hours. While they’re pretty hardy critters, they have a knack for getting into trouble. It was getting near time to drive the flock in for the night, but if I left the sheep alone out here, something would eat her before morning. We needed the sheep. They gave us wool and milk and meat that were our livelihood. Nothing goes to waste.

I glanced at the sinking sun and quickened my pace. If I didn’t find the missing ewe soon, I might end up spending a cold night in the desert myself. It didn’t overly worry me. I could make a fire to keep any predators at bay if I needed to. I’d done it before. What I really wanted, though, was to find the stupid sheep and get home to my grandparents, a hot meal and my bedroll. I perked up my ears at a faint bleat from farther up the trail. If I could hear it, the sheep couldn’t be far off, though the canyons sometimes did tricky things with sound. I scrambled up the rocks in search of a better vantage.

A sharp buzzing rattle made me freeze in my tracks, one hand extended for the next ledge above me, the rest of my body perched precariously on the sharp slope. I couldn’t see the diamondback making the noise, but it had to be close. Slowly I started back down, trying to locate the snake. The rattle intensified, and I froze again. A glance down made me gulp. There was a big diamondback rattler coiled up less than a foot from my left leg, rattling away and fixated on my bare calf. If I moved, it would strike. My perch was too precarious to hope I could move away in time.

“I don’t think he likes you much, Billy-Boy.”

The voice, familiar with its faintly taunting note, made me look up sharply despite the snake. A yellow-eyed man with copper skin and long black hair lounged on a boulder above my head. He looked younger this time, maybe in his late twenties, but there was no mistaking him. Our first meeting, more than a year previous, was still seared into my memory. I swallowed, my mouth gone dry as I was forced to divide my attention between the angry snake and the reclining god.

“Coyote,” I said. “Can you make it go away?”

“Make him?” The Trickster’s brows rose. “You’re the one who disturbed his nap.”

A trickle of cold sweat oozed down my spine despite the late afternoon heat. “I didn’t mean to,” I promised. “I swear. I was just looking for the sheep.”

“And now you’ve offended Brother Rattler in your careless scrambling.” Coyote shrugged and sat up on his rock. The buzz of the rattler’s tail filled my ears. I could see the snake swaying hypnotically back and forth just inches from my bare calf, deciding whether or not to strike. The snake was thicker around than my wrist, and I was miles from the hogan. Our hogan was far from the nearest thing that could be called a town, and even farther still from the mythical reach of modern medicine.

“If he bites me, I’ll die,” I said, striving for calm. Do you have any idea how hard that is for a thirteen year old boy?

There was another casual lift of Coyote’s shoulders. “Why should I care?”

“Why else would you show up?” I countered sharply, and then squeezed my eyes shut when the rattler’s buzz redoubled, expecting the hot sting of fangs and the deathly injection of venom at any moment.

The Trickster chuckled softly. “That, Billy-Boy, is an excellent question.”

I opened an eye to peer up at him. “You want something,” I guessed. I knew enough of the stories. Grandfather hadn’t even thrashed me when he’d gotten home from his meeting with Coyote. The one I’d interrupted. He’d just very quietly told me never to do it again. Apparently Coyote had his own ideas.

“And the boy gets a gold star,” said the yellow eyed man.

I swallowed, trying to ignore the buzzing rattler. “What do you want?”

His smile had too many teeth. “Why, you, Billy-Boy.”

“I’m only thirteen!” My voice cracked when I spoke, breaking embarrassingly.

“Used to be you’d be a man already.” He leaned back on his rock and crossed his arms behind his head. “Nantai’s been slipping.”

“I’m not a man yet,” I protested. My muscles we starting to shake from the strain of holding one position for so long. I’d always been a skinny kid, not as fast or as strong as my cousins.

“Would you like to be?”

“I-. Yes!” I blurted. I didn’t want to get snake bit. I wanted to grow up and figure out what to do with myself. I didn’t want to die here looking for a stupid sheep.

Coyote reached down lightning quick and caught my wrist. He yanked me bodily beyond the rattler’s striking distance before the snake could sink its fangs into me. The Trickster set me down on the rock beside him. I went to all fours, panting from exertion and adrenaline, my limbs shaking from the close call.

“Then I’ll teach you.” The man had become an enormous coyote again, but this time he wasn’t threatening me. He scratched at one ear absently before bounding away up the rocks. I couldn’t go back down. The snake was still there. All that was left was to try and follow him. My arms and legs felt like overused rubber bands when I finally reached the top of the mesa.

“Teach me what?” I asked. Coyote was rolling in the dust, staining his fur rusty red. The animal paused to blink at me.

“Did you say something?”

I sat down on rocks colored by the setting sun and tried to regain my breath. “You said you’d teach me,” I reminded him. “To be a man.”

“Oh, that.” He got up and shook dust from his fur. It was so surreal, sitting here talking to a coyote that had to weigh twice what I did. He sat on his haunches and studied me. No matter what form he took, his eyes stayed yellow.

“Bilagaana Nizhoni, son of Mae, grandson of Nantai of the Coyote Pass People.” There was something dreadfully formal about his naming of me. It sent a shiver down my spine, though the rocks were warm.

“Yes?” I said cautiously.

Coyote darted forward and nipped my hand, not quite hard enough to draw blood. “Tag! You’re it!”

I was left staring at his bushy tail as he bounded across the top of the mesa, laughing raucously. Did he really...? He did. I hadn’t a prayer of catching him and I still hadn’t found the sheep, but something told me if I didn’t play Coyote’s games, it would only get worse. I pushed myself up and ran after the Trickster god. 


	3. Babysitting Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coyote has been mentoring, if that is the word for it, Billy Nizhoni for roughly three years when he shows up with a surprise for his hapless pupil. Like most surprises from Coyote, it is more than it appears.

The whistling was the first thing that caught my attention. Guiltily I shoved the brochure I’d been studying into the back pocket of my jeans. I didn’t know which of my uncles or older cousins had left the US Air Force recruitment info laying out in the hogan, but I’d snagged it before heading out to take my turn watching the family flocks. I was sixteen, so there were a couple years between me and joining anything, but the last thing I wanted was my erstwhile mentor discovering I was thinking of leaving the Rez and his plans for me, whatever those were.

“Billy-Boy!” Coyote popped up next to the rock I’d perched myself on.

I eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah?”

“Got something for you.”

“I don’t know-.” That was as far as I got before the yellow-eyed man plopped a puppy in my lap. It was a scruffy little gray-brown fuzzball with milk teeth and eyes like Coyote’s. In fact...

“She ain’t mine,” the Trickster said a touch smugly. “If that’s what you were thinking. But she’s a feisty little troublemaker. You’ll have to keep a close eye on her.”

“You-. I’ll-. Huh?”

“Just think of it as babysitting,” he told me, turning as if to leave.

“You can’t just-!” But he was already gone, leaving me with the coyote pup. The tiny canine yawned and promptly peed on my leg. I jumped up, making a disgusted noise. I carried it down to the water hole the sheep used, and fashioned a rude leash from a bit of baling twine so the pup wouldn’t run off while I cleaned up. It rolled in the dust, trying to chew on the twine I’d tied around its neck. I shook my head at the silly thing’s antics, and splashed clean water over my wet pant-leg.

When I glanced back up, though, the coyote pup was gone. In its place sprawled a naked toddler, the tiny girl vigorously chewing on the piece of baling twine and growling. I stared in disbelief. I’ve seen some strange stuff in the years I’ve known Coyote, but this was a new one.

“What the...”

When I spoke, the tiny girl rolled to all fours, crouched, and growled at me just like a dog. If I hadn’t leapt for my impromptu leash, the kid would have taken off. Dammit, she was fast! I managed to pounce, and found myself with a squirming puppy again instead of a child. Hell. Had I just imagined it?

“Having fun yet?”

I glanced up from the dust and found Coyote watching me and grinning. Slowly, I climbed to my feet, the growling, squirming ball of fluff held firmly in my arms.

“What... What is she?” I asked.

“Shapeshifter,” he told me cheerfully. 

I frowned. “You mean like a Sk-.”

He made a sharp hiss and cut me off before I could finish my question. “Never name something unless you want to get its attention, Billy-Boy,” Coyote warned me. “Especially bad things.”

“Like you?” I snarked. He chuckled.

“Not like me. I’m different. I’m Coyote.” He pointed to the pup in my arms. “She’s a coyote-were.”

“Don’t you mean were-coyote? Like werewolf?”

“Naw.” He shook his head. “You got it backwards. She’s a coyote who can turn human.”

Because that totally cleared things up. “But... How?”

He shrugged. “Magic. Anyway, she’s a good exercise for you. Look after her.”

“But how am I...” It was too late. He was gone again. I cursed softly and glared down at the pup in my arms. She was gnawing on a corner of my shirt, putting tooth holes in the cotton. Great. A baby and a puppy all rolled up in one, with double the nuisance and messes. “I hate my life,” I grumbled, and started back toward the flock. I’d learned by now that ignoring Coyote’s little ‘lessons’ was something I did at my own peril. I would just have to figure something out.


	4. Parting Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy Nizhoni decides to make his own way in the world, apart from Coyote's plans for him. Somebody will be sad to see him go.

“You _can’t_ leave!”

Enormous yellow-green eyes glistened with crocodile tears while Shauna pouted at me. In the pair of years I’d been her on again, off again minder, the troublesome little shifter had grown immensely. She’d gone from puny pup to scrawny adolescent, and her human form resembled that of a skinny girl of around fourteen, usually dressed in my own overlarge castoffs. Shauna looked enough like one of the _Diné_ that an outsider might mistake her for my little sister, but as far as I knew, we weren’t related. Her dusky skinned limbs were at that gawky, overlong stage that suggested she still had growing to do, for all she’d remained a tiny thing. Maybe that was just my perspective, though. I’d finally hit a growth spurt and shot up nearly a foot in height over the past year, though I had yet to fill out my newly elongated frame.

Shauna stamped a foot in the dust and scowled at me when tears appeared to have no effect. Her roughly cropped black hair stuck out wildly around her face. “You can’t, Billy!”

“And why not?” I retorted, in no mood for her taunts. Shauna is a creature of moods and passions, not logic. Sometimes it boggles me that she ever actually learned to speak at all. It was less likely she really cared about me, and more that her meal ticket was thinking of bugging out and getting off the reservation for good.

“Because... I... Because!” she finished.

“Great reasoning there, kid,” I said dryly. “Anyway, it’s done. I signed on with the recruiter yesterday, and I ship out for basic training next week.”

“I’ll tell Coyote,” Shauna threatened. “He’ll make you stay!”

“He won’t,” I told her with more surety than I really felt. “I’m eighteen and legally an adult now. It’s my choice.”

“Then why haven’t you told him yourself?” she countered.

She had me there. I had kept quiet about signing on with the air force because I didn’t know if Coyote would interfere if I told him. I thought it likely. He’s not called the Trickster for nothing.

“Because it’s my business and nobody else’s,” I retorted. “I can’t spend my whole life chasing sheep and trying to stay one step ahead of his stupid games. I want to make something of myself.” And if I couldn’t do that on the Rez, I’d find a way to do it somewhere else.

“I wanna come with you, then,” Shauna whined.

“I can’t bring you with me, dummy,” I said. “And don’t try to follow me, either. If they catch you, they’ll either shoot your mangy ass, or try and ship you back here. Either way, it’ll get me in trouble, and you don’t want that, do you?”

Shauna drooped a little. “They wouldn’t catch me,” she muttered rebelliously. “I’m too fast.”

I sighed. “Look, just... don’t, okay? Hey, I’m going to need somebody to come home to once I finish all that training, anyway. Think you can do that?” Anything to keep her occupied and not raiding the neighbors’ chicken house.

“I guess,” she agreed sullenly. “I still don’t want you to go.”

“I know.” I ruffled her unruly hair as if she really were my kid sister instead of the babysitting job Coyote had dumped on me. “But this is my only chance to try and make something of myself without his influence, or anybody else’s. I’ve gotta take that chance while I can.”

“If it means that much to you...” It was Shauna’s turn to sigh. “Okay. I’ll be here, I promise. But you’d better come back,” she threatened, “or I’ll track you down and haunt you.”

“Ghosts haunt things,” I said. “Coyote-weres just annoy everybody.

“Close enough,” she said with a one-shouldered shrug.

I paused to give her a hug. Shauna smelled like canyon dust, dry grasses, and very faintly of wet dog.

“I’ll miss you,” she told me, her voice uncharacteristically small.

“I’ll miss you too, but I still have to do this,” I said.

“I know.” She dragged a bare toe in the dirt. “Promise you’ll come back? You won’t forget about me.”

“I won’t forget,” I promised. “While I’m gone, my grandparents will help you if you need it, I’m sure.”

“I can take care of myself,” she retorted. “But... Ajei cooks some pretty tasty food.” Her tone had a wistful note to it. I smiled.

“I’m sure they’ll feed you if you ask nicely,” I said. “No stealing.”

“Okay.” The sulkiness came back, but not as strongly as before. I didn’t expect her to listen, but my grandparents wouldn’t really mind, and Shauna wasn’t big enough to make off with much.

"I'll come back when I'm on leave," I told her. "It's not forever. You'll see me again."

"I better." She gave me one last fierce hug, and darted away, leaving a trail of shed clothing in her wake.

By the time Shauna had reached the top of the bluff, the girl was gone, and a half-grown coyote stood there instead. She paused, tail waving like a flag, and then she was gone from view. I sighed and moved to pick up the clothes she had left behind. I would leave them near the hollow where Shauna denned when she wasn't mooching off my grandparents, or like as not the next time she showed up to pester them, she would be buck naked. Again. I shook my head. As much as I'd come to like my little shifter friend, a large part of me was relieved that soon I would be doing  _normal_ things, military things, no crazy magic or trickster mentors involved. It would be a welcome change for me, and if I was lucky, a permanent one. I took one last glance around the canyons in silent goodbye, and turned to head for home.


	5. Life and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six years have passed since Billy Nizhoni left the reservation and joined the military. Special Forces soldiers are some of the best in the service, but then it comes to magic, all the training in the world isn't enough to protect you from things that go bump in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this the the chapter that the graphic violence warning is tagged onto this story for! It's short, but it's bloody.

How long does it take a man to bleed out and die? Five minutes? Eight? The thought passed through my head with almost idle calm as I used my one good arm to drag myself towards the assault rifle. The weapon lay in the dirt like a forgotten child’s toy, knocked aside in the first frantic moments of the attack. I ignored the crunching noises behind me that signified the last of my teammates had fallen to the thing’s assault and inched painfully closer to the rifle. I called it a thing in my mind because it could not possibly be what it appeared to be. A bear that size would have been at home in the wilds of Northern Canada or Alaska, but not in the desert outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. Either Siegfried and Roy were having a bad day, or it was something else. Something considerably darker. Something that was not supposed to exist outside of stories.

Skinwalker.

It had come on us so fast. There had been no warning. The gashes across my chest from the thing’s claws seeped and burned, and the puncture on my thigh was deep enough that if I did not get a tourniquet on it soon, I was likely to find out just how long it took to bleed out. At least one of my ribs was cracked, and I was fairly certain the blow that had knocked me sprawling had dislocated, if not broken, my shoulder. The bear-thing had mauled me and swatted me aside before turning on my teammates. Stevens had died in a sudden wash of blood, without even a chance to draw his weapon. I had not seen how it got Miller or Vasquez, but there had been some staccato gunfire and short screams before more blood stained the thirsty desert sands. They hadn’t had a chance, not against something like this.

The wet noises behind me subsided in a low, menacing rumble the same time my fingers closed on the butt of the rifle. I had not survived half a dozen years in the Special Forces to roll over and die now. With a grunt, I heaved myself onto my back. The bear-thing reared up from its kill, a monstrous black shape highlighted in harsh green from a dropped chemical lantern. Blood glistened like black oil on the massive body, matting the fur in places. A piece of cold logic clicked into place within my skull. If it could bleed, then it could die, and I could kill it. The monster peeled rubbery lips back from a mouthful of glistening teeth and snarled, taking a lumbering step toward my prone form.

I braced the assault rifle as best I could with only one functional arm. At least at point blank range, I was unlikely to miss. I sighted on the bear thing’s beady black eyes and emptied the weapon’s entire clip straight into its evil brain. Three good men had been torn apart by this thing’s claws, and I was not going to last much longer myself. There was no hesitation. With the cold clarity of the nearly dead, I saw the bullets strike, saw them tear the creature’s face to shreds and blow out the other side of its head. Watched it dance itself to a jerky, ungainly death. The last thing I saw as my magazine clicked empty was the Skinwalker’s mostly headless corpse as it crashed down on top of me.


	6. Old Friends and Dubious Rescues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps death isn't as sure a thing as it first appears. Coyote appears to have stepped in and turned things to his own advantage. There's another offer on the table for Billy, and this one is considerably more serious.

The afterlife was a gyp. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. It also smelled like packed earth and wood smoke and dog. Someone was whistling a cheerful tune nearby. It took several repetitions before the song sank in enough for me to recognize it.

Billy-Boy. God, but I hated that song.

I cracked an eye open. The familiar dark curve of a hogan’s roof rose above me. A fire crackled merrily in a stone lined pit in the center of the round building. I lay on a bed of dried grasses, naked except for the bandages that bound my wounds, and covered in woven blankets, their bright colors dim in the familiar darkness.

The source of the whistling came from a man who was not a man, who sat by the fire. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. It had been easy, so easy, to dismiss the encounters of my teenage years as fits of imagination or even hallucination. It was much more difficult with said figment sitting there less than five feet from where I lay. The whistling cut off, and the man turned his head. Yellow eyes like a wild animal’s gleamed in the firelight. The smile that curved the stranger’s mouth was not reassuring. I licked dry lips.

“You.”

The word was a raw croak. The man’s smile widened into a grin.

“Hey there, Billy-Boy. How’re you feeling?”

He was as disgustingly cheerful as I remembered. “Like shit,” I grunted and let my head loll back. Coyote. It _would_ have to be Coyote. Of course. Dead would be so much easier. No, my personal demon had to reappear to haunt me.

“Good, good.”

I closed my eyes. Maybe if I wished it hard enough, Coyote would vanish, and the whole thing would turn out to be a nightmare. No such luck. After a few minutes of silence while Coyote puttered around the fire, I gave in and did a mental inventory of my injuries. Experimental stretches sent back a plethora of aches and pains and twinges. My left shoulder hurt like a bitch, but I could move it a little, albeit stiffly. Must have been dislocated, then, not broken. Bruised or cracked ribs stabbed me in the side when I breathed in too deeply, but I must have escaped puncturing a lung or I would already be dead. There was no suck or rattle when I breathed, and I wasn’t coughing up blood. That was a plus.

The claw marks across my chest had been cleaned and bandaged, the skin pulling uncomfortably when I tried to move. There was a deep ache in my right thigh where one of the Skinwalker’s claws had punctured the thick muscle. It had not hit the femoral artery, but that might have been more luck than design. I had been feeling the effects of severe blood loss when I had finally killed the thing. It was growing unsettlingly clear that Coyote seemed to have saved me. But why? For what purpose? The Trickster never did anything without a reason.

Ignoring the pain of my wounds, I laboriously pushed myself upright. The movement cost me, though, my good arm shaking with strain, and the other barely able to support any of my weight. After a moment, I sank back down with a groan. I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“Here, this ought to help.”

Coyote shoved a steaming mug under my nose, the bitter vapors that rose from it making my eyes water. I tried to push it away, but the Trickster just snorted.

“It’s willow bark tea, but if you don’t want to feel better, that’s fine by me.”

I grimaced, but managed to choke down a few mouthfuls of the vile substance. If it was what Coyote claimed, it ought to act as though I had swallowed a couple of aspirin within a few minutes, taking the edge off his pain. I gathered my thoughts as I lay there. The hogan was bare except for his palette and what looked like a bearskin rug by the fire where Coyote had been sitting. There was no sign of the clothing or boots I had been wearing, or... My hand crept to my bare neck. The dog tags I had worn for over six years were missing as well. Everything that had physically identified me as a member of the U.S. Air Force was gone.

“Tags,” I grunted. “Where are my tags?”

“So funny, you call me a dog, but you’re the one who spent half a dozen years collared and licensed.” Coyote let out a hoot of laughter that sounded a bit like a hyena’s bark.

I gritted his teeth until my jaw ached. “Where. Are. My. Dog tags?”

“On the Skinwalker’s corpse,” Coyote replied simply, going back to sit on the fur rug by the fire. I stared at him.

“What?”

The Trickster god blew air through his lips, making a rude, dismissive sound. “You’d preferred I leave you to bleed out? After all the trouble I went through teaching you? Come now, Billy-Boy, you know me better than that. You did good out there, killed it before it could take you out. I just patched you up and smoothed things out for the authorities, that’s all.”

I closed my eyes, a familiar migraine building behind my forehead. So that was his angle. Coyote’s idea of what constituted as ‘fixing’ things tended to leave a lot to be desired.

“What did you do?”

Coyote gave an easy shrug. “Four corpses with marks of an animal attack are easier to explain than five. Missing a head, it was easy enough for them to assume the fourth dead man was you.”

“Especially if the corpse was wearing my clothes and ID?” I asked, resignation congealing in a cold, hard lump in my stomach.

“Ahh, Billy-Boy, I knew you were a quick study.” Coyote sounded pleased.

“So, what? I’m dead now?”

“Officially, as far as the U.S. government is concerned, yes.”

What a shock. Presuming I recovered from my wounds, I could theoretically go back and attempt to explain the incident, but that meant coming up with an answer for the extra body and why it had been wearing my gear and tags. If I told them about the Skinwalker, they would lock me in a padded room. If I didn’t, I’d get court martialed and probably have the murder of my entire team pinned on me. If that went up before the courts, I’d get the death penalty for sure. Or... I swallowed, mouth gone dry and sour.

“What do you want?” I asked flatly.

“Now, Billy-Boy, what makes you think I want anything?”

“Cut the bullshit,” I growled.

Coyote chuckled. “Well, since you’re a dead man and all, I _could_ set things up for you.”

“Sure you could.”

“I own a firm in Vegas. Contract security and bodyguard work. Nothing you couldn’t handle. All straightforward and on the up and up. Even pay my taxes and everything.” He cackled. “Oh, there’d be a few side contracts dealing with things like your big ugly friend back there in the desert, but those would be the minority.”

I scowled up at the hogan’s ceiling. It was more or less the same offer Coyote had made when I was a kid. Troubleshooter with a supernatural twist. Back then, I had joined the military to get away from the reservation and the troublesome Trickster god. Now my options were severely limited.

“I’ll think about it,” I grunted, and turned my head to the wall, away from Coyote.

“You do that, Billy-Boy,” Coyote said with a soft chuckle. “You do that.”


	7. Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy Nizhoni makes his choice, for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy has a great deal more story that comes after this, but the majority of his backstory ends here. I've decided to leave the chapters open ended in case I think it's worth adding more, later.

It was difficult to tell how much time had passed. I had only the brightening and darkening of the smoke hole in the hogan’s roof as a reference for day and night. The first days were the hardest and most frustrating, as my injuries kept me mostly immobile. My body was simply not capable of doing the things I demanded of it. Even getting up to take care of my business left me sweating and panting like I had run a marathon. Coyote, surprisingly enough, kept his mouth shut, letting me suffer through my exertion without mockery. The Trickster was always nearby, but never quite interfering. He provided clothing, food, and more of the vile willow bark tea, and slowly and stubbornly, I regained my mobility and strength.

The shoulder healed the quickest, and the claw marks on my chest became angry-looking scars. The puncture wound in my thigh and the cracked rib pained me less with time as well. Once I could walk without hobbling like an elderly woman, I ventured out of the hogan. The desert stretched out in all directions around us, with no signs of civilization except the hogan as far as the eye could see. It was like being back on the reservation again. Days had passed, maybe weeks. My hair had begun to grow out of its military-short cut.

I knew if I left, Coyote wouldn’t stop me any more than he had when I chose to join the Air Force. But if I left, I was on his own. I had nothing but those clothes on my back, a fresh set of scars, and my own two feet. If I could make his way down to Mexico or Central America, I could likely make a decent trade selling my skills as a mercenary, but that precluded actually _getting_ there. Then there was the fact that I knew how most of the cartels operated. Men of my sort were in high demand, but it meant running drugs and terrorizing innocent people, and that was something I refused to do. In the end, it made Coyote’s offer look better and better.

Coyote joined me, squatting in the dirt outside the hogan as the sun began to set. “So,” the Trickster began conversationally. “You given any more thought to my proposal?”

“Uh huh,” I replied noncommittally. Coyote chuckled.

“And?”

I was silent for a long moment. “I’ll do it,” I finally said, and hoped I would not regret my decision too badly. I grunted when Coyote clapped me on the shoulder.

“You always were a smart boy, Billy.” His grin was a Cheshire Cat smile. “My secretary’ll get you set up first thing on Monday.”

“You have a secretary?” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what he was saying.

“Sure do. She’s a knockout, too.” Coyote went on to describe the woman’s other aspects in detail. I got the feeling the term sexual harassment had never been and would never be part of the Trickster’s vocabulary.

I just shook my head and let my... Patron? Sponsor? Boss? Ramble on about the job. Working for Coyote. I’d spent six years trying to get away and build a life for myself, and now I was right back where I had started. I could only hope I’d made the right choice.


End file.
